Cry of the Diva
by ParanoiaPoliticianDiva77
Summary: When all is said and done, when all that can be done is done what is a Diva to do? And when her friends abandon her and her fiancee murdered what else can the Prima Donna do except look for another misunderstood soul...Based mainly on Leroux and ALW
1. Prologue: The Death of Don Juan

_**Prologue:**_

_Premier Performance of Don Juan_

_Saturday 24__th__ January 1871_

_L'opera Garnier, Paris_

Carlotta watched from side stage, awaiting Ubaldo's reappearance upon the stage, to sing with that little ingénue...that little Christine Daaé. It filled the Spanish diva with such fury that the little girl with the luck of fifteen minutes fame was chosen to play the object of _her_ fiancées desire. Carlotta knew _she_ deserved to be striding upon stage with that basket of roses, wearing that beautiful costume, to sing with _her_ lover. Not some little wilting flower who no one would remember in a week's time.

And all for the capture of the damned opera ghost! Oh how Carlotta's veins pulsed with wrath at the injuries this Opera Ghost had already caused her; the threats, the backdrop falling upon her, the great embarrassment of the performance of Il Muto, the insults at the Masquerade, the-

A man entered the stage and Carlotta lost her train of thought immediately.

"_Passarino...go away for the trap is set and waits for its prey..."_

Transfixed by the man, the opera ghost in Ubaldo's costume...singing Ubaldo's part as the anger in Carlotta faded away, her blood turning icy and her face pale as she realised what had happened...

_Why didn't the police shoot him? Why did no one do anything?_

Trying desperately to get through the crowd watching side stage Carlotta could feel herself gasping for breath as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fainted.

She came-to surrounded by her ladies maids, fanning her and exclaiming in Spanish as the opera continued.

"_The bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn..."_

Swearing at the maids Carlotta shooed them away as she rushed to the wings, watching the opera desperately as that little child began to writher in ecstasy at the man's touch, neither Ubaldo nor Carlotta upon the stage where they should be.

_But that wasn't part of the Opera..._

The man, the Don Juan, had began to sing a light melody, an art song to the little prodigy who's eyes filled with fear and confusion. The Don Juan spun her around and took out a ring, the ring Christine had worn around her neck at the masquerade, and forced it onto her ring finger.

Suddenly the mask was off and screams echoed throughout the theatre. The monster revealed...a face of pulsing burns and scars, a deformed ear, nose and eye, a mess of a face, and Carlotta lost her breath.

_No..._

And soon the chandelier was spiralling down upon the audience, the mass of people running for the doors as explosions erupted around the fallen chandelier, Carlotta picking up her skirts and running with the mob.

But as she took a shortcut backstage, through where the Don Juan was supposed to wait, an awful surprise greeted her.

"No!" Carlotta screamed as she saw Ubaldo's body lying limp upon the floor, a knotted rope around her dear lover and fiancées neck, his beloved face motionless.

"¡Dios del Oh!" she screamed in Spanish, her hands flying to her face as her worst fears were confirmed. "Estimado dios del Oh, no mi… mi querido… mi amor. Maldecir ese fantasma maldecido de la ópera que lo rasgaré miembro del miembro cuando lo encuentro… oh mi querido mi amor mi amor…"

* * *

_**Translation:** "Oh god!" she screamed in Spanish, her hands flying to her face as her worst fears were confirmed. "Oh dear god, not my one...my beloved...my love. Curse that damned opera ghost I shall tear him limb from limb when I find him...oh my darling my love my love..."_


	2. Chapter One: Señorita's Sickness

**Chapter One**

_Wednesday 24__th__ February 1871,_

_Carlotta Giudicelli's rather large Townhouse, _

_Rue du Faubourg St.-Honoré, Paris_

"Señorita will not be coming down for breakfast today," whispered Madame Campan to the kitchen staff who frowned in confusion.

"Why ever not?" asked one, a Giselle Deaunet, a thin scullery maid with a poor complexion and mousy curly hair.

"Don't you know what day it is?" hissed Amélie Fauvet, a large girl with long dark straight hair and sparkling blue eyes. "It's been one month since Senhor was tragically killed" and the entire kitchen went quiet.

"Oh" Giselle said and went back to sweeping the floor as the chef continued to make breakfast, knocking evermore flour on the floor.

"I suppose Mademoiselle Carlotta will be having breakfast in her room then?" said Salomé, the chef and Madame Campan shook her head.

"Non monsieur; she's refusing to eat," she said hopelessly and Salomé grimaced; a mornings work now to be fed to the ratty maids.

Madame Campan shrugged as she turned away but upon hearing the maids giggling with whispers about their mistress she whipped around and eyed them thoughtfully.

"I'll have none of that from ma petit sluts" she said icily "Señorita has been through quite enough without you gossiping harlots making it worse. You girls do not understand what it is to love a man, you mustn't the way you throw your legs open at the sight of 'fresh meat', and therefore you do not understand what it is like to lose said beloved. I'll have you thrown out if Señorita hears a single piece of chitchat about her from you, you understand?" she glared at them and the group of girls giggled.

"Oui Madame" the four maids chorused and went back to their work, giggling and pulling faces, as the housekeeper left.

"Just because she cannot hold a man down, just because when she throws her legs open her husband doesn't even notice" said Giselle nastily and Amélie swatted her over the head with her rolling pin.

"Whore" she merely said and work was continued.

* * *

Carlotta sat on her bed, weeping as she sipped at a cup of herbal tea, her long crimson hair braided down her back, her pink nightgown covered by a black dressing robe. She had been awake since four that morning, awoken by her own sobbing as she dreamt of her lover.

Carlotta had not seen much of Paris since...that night. She attended the funeral of course, and bore witness to the court hearings for La Vicomte de Chagny over the death of his older brother Philippe, La Comte. But apart from these small occasions and slight outings such as a walk outside for a breath of fresh air Carlotta hardly saw anyone. Her friends and supporters suddenly disappeared at the moment she needed them the most; popularity hunters they were, becoming best friends with the most sensational people of the time when it benefited them of course.

And as Carlotta placed her hand on her stomach she felt sick once again and grabbed for the bowl.

It had been like this for the past month; uncontrollably sick in the mornings and vertigo. And now her course was late for over a week. As these thoughts compiled themselves in her mind Carlotta felt as if she may faint, realising.

In a panic she rang the bell for Madame Campan who came running.

"Yes Señorita?" she asked, confused by Carlotta's pale panic stricken face doused in yet more tears. Her mistress shook in fear, her hands holding her stomach, biting her lip as she summed up the words.

"Can you please call the physician?" she asked quietly and Madame Campan started; her mistress could not be ill? Not when she had been so sheltered from the world in the past month.

"Oh Señorita, are you ill? You do look pale" she said, rushing to feel the diva's forehead but Carlotta pushed her away gently, her eyes cold and serious.

"No Madame, I think I am pregnant" she said quietly, wiping the drying tears from her sticky face as Madame Campan looked at her in shock. "Please don't look at me like that, I feel horrid enough already, just get the goddamned doctor" she spat at her and the lady left the room as Carlotta's gaze fell to her stomach.

"Oh dear god" she whispered and clutched on to the crucifix hanging about her neck "please forgive me...I didn't think it would matter...we were to be married within the month...we could wait no longer...forgive me..."

* * *

_Wednesday 24__th__ February 1871_

_Living Room of La Comte De Chagny's Townhouse,_

_Paris_

Christine sat with her needlework in her lap, staring straight ahead as she ceased her work, immersed within her own thoughts. The news had reached her in the _Epoque_ newspaper, on page three of the advertisements. A mere box with a message baffling to anyone at first glance;

_Erik wishes to see his angel_

And such a message sent a chill down the Comtesses spine and filled her heart with dread. To return to see the monster...oh she could be killed by his spite or immersed in his love, drowned in his sorrows or caught up in his passions. That monster which she once thought upon fondly, the one who had turned from angel to demon in a matter of seconds, this wolf in lambs clothing...it wished to see her.

She had checked page three of the advertisements each day for one month now, checking for the message that announced the monsters death. But only this...command had reached her.

"Darling" came Raoul's voice and she jolted. Turning to see her husband Christine relaxed, forcing a relieved smile upon her face.

"You scared me! I didn't know you were there" she laughed gaily and he pressed his lips to her cheek, settling his arms around her shoulders as she comfortably leant back into his embrace, attempting to remain calm even though the news still surged through her veins.

"Forgive me Lotte, I am sure I'll make it up to you" he growled, beginning to kiss her neck softly, letting Christine forget herself as she became enwrapped in the moment, sighing as Raoul's hands snaked around her waist and bust.

Christine opened her eyes to turn and kiss Raoul but stopped as she caught sight of the newspaper, still sitting open on the coffee table.

_Erik wishes to see his angel_

"What is it?" Raoul asked in confusion as his wife froze in fear. Christine swallowed nervously and composed herself, her eyes wide in panic.

"I..." she began but could not explain it in words and shoved the newspaper into Raoul's lap, pointing frantically at the advertisement.

_Erik wishes to see his angel_

Raoul turned pale, his bemused smile fading to a worried grimace, his hands clenching tensely into shaking fists.

"Is that it?" He whispered in fury "Can we never be in peace?...You say that you wish for her to be happy...to be with me and be happy at that...but yet you cannot stop your haunting of my wife!" he roared, picking up the newspaper and tearing it into shreds. Christine stood back in fright; she had never seen Raoul lose his temper like that before, he was always so calm in his nature.

Still shaking he picked up a crystal vase and threw it at the wall. As the shards sprayed across the floor Raoul fell into his chair, his back racking with sobs as he ran his fingers through his short blonde hair.

Christine rushed to him, her arms falling around his broad shoulders, kissing his cheeks, kissing away his tears. Settling to sit upon his lap she set about calming him.

"Darling...I will speak to him...he will not bother us ever again...please don't cry, when you cry it's as if my heart would tear in two...oh darling" she sighed and embrace her husband as his tears soon were pouring down her arm.

_Erik wishes to see his angel_

"I'm sick of it...so god damned sick of it Chris...what if we're never rid of him...what if we can never live our own lives in peace?" he managed to choke out and soon Christine's tears mingled with his own as she cried at the thought of never being free as Erik had promised.

"I know, I know darling...we will be rid of him, please keep faith Raoul, we will be free" she whispered in hope.

"It's hard to have faith anymore, I thought I could have faith when I left those caverns with you at my side and I thought it meant nothing was ever without hope. But I'm finding it hard to believe lately, and it's impossible to have hope when such promises are broken" he said quietly as he wiped his sticky face, the tears stopped as he held his wife to his body, dying at the thought that she might be taken away from him.

"I would never leave you Raoul, I'd do anything for you. I love you and that is something to have faith in," Christine whispered and he patted her back.

"That's one thing I always have faith in. I love you" he said and took her lips to his, their tears salty in each others.

"We'll figure something out" she whispered as he pulled away.

"I hope so"

* * *


	3. Chapter Two: The Jewel Song

**_Chapter Two_**

_Tuesday 30__th__ February 1871_

_Five stories beneath the Opera Garnier_

_Paris_

Erik sat in the cave, drinking a glass of brandy as he played a new tune lightly with his right hand upon the organ, wondering if he should change the key.

"Yes...G minor..." he muttered to himself and picked up his pencil and began to copy down the notes upon some spare music manuscript.

"Excuse me?" came a voice and Erik shot around

There stood Raoul, glaring at him and Erik raised one eyebrow.

"Yes? What is it?" he spat at the man he least wanted to see and Raoul folded his arms, his mouth set in a firm grimace.

"Stop it" he said resolutely and Erik laughed.

"Stop what" he asked in a sickly sweet voice, mocking Raoul who remained unmoved.

"Stop harassing my wife" he replied steadfastly and Erik was taken aback; what had happened to the mouse who was tied to the gate just over one month ago? Since when had he grown into a man?

"Why?" Erik said, folding his arms as he grew serious, remembering her sweet beauty in that white gown, her flowing chocolate curls and glowing porcelain skin.

"Can't you see what you're doing to her? Can't you see that you've broken your promise to her? You promised to leave her alone, you said we could leave and marry and be happy. And suddenly you're no longer dying of heartbreak but sending demanding messages in the newspaper. She refuses to come down here; she's frightened and thinks that if she ignores it it'll go away. She doesn't know I'm here but I cannot bear to see her so distraught." Raoul said coldly and Erik instantly saw delicate tears running down his beloved Angel's face.

"I..." he began but words failed him.

"Will you stop?" Raoul pressed and Erik turned from him, his hands flying effortlessly across the organ keyboard as he launched into Bach's _Toccata and Fugue in D minor_. Ignoring Raoul's repeated demands for the messages to stop Erik immersed himself in his music, wondering if he could ever compose something as amazing as this particular fugue.

Suddenly he felt himself spinning, and everything went black.

"Damn" Raoul muttered, having struck Erik in anger. He stared at the crumpled opera ghost; his head and torso sprawled across the keyboard of the organ, a loud mess of notes sounding at once.

"To hell with it" Raoul muttered and pinned the note for Erik upon his jacket sleeve to find when he awoke.

* * *

Madame Giry came down to have found Erik sprawled across the organ, knocked out cold, with a note from the Comte de Chagny pinned to his sleeve. Saliva dripped from his mouth onto the organ keyboard and Madame Giry sighed in frustration.

"He's not going to be happy when he wakes up" she groaned and Meg shrugged.

"Are we going to take him?" she asked and Madame Giry moaned in aggravation.

"Yes, we have to" She replied unwillingly, her daughter and her dragging Erik to his feet, one arm across Madame Giry and one across Meg as they heaved him across the living space to their simple rowboat. Dumping him in the boat Meg unpinned the note as Madame Giry took the oars.

"It's a note from Raoul..." she said, reading the envelope sealed with the red Chagny seal, turning it over to look inquisitively at the seal, looking up at her mother.

"No Meg, you may not read it" Madame Giry said firmly, knowing exactly what her daughter had in mind. "Let's just get this damned man back home before he wakes up"

* * *

_Tuesday 30__th__ February 1871_

_Carlotta Giudicelli's rather large Townhouse, _

_Rue du Faubourg St.-Honoré, Paris_

"No I don't like this" Carlotta complained as she looked in the mirror in her favourite pink dress with the frill and the lace sleeves.

"But it's your favourite" Exclaimed Madame Campan and Carlotta began to feel her temper well up, uncontrollable fury lashing out.

"Well! It obviously isn't if I just said I didn't like it! Go fetch me a navy blue dress!" she screeched and Madame Campan flinched; her mistresses bad temper had not improved since Senor Piangi's death.

"Sorry Señorita" she recoiled and dashed to the immense wardrobe filled with dresses, gowns and skirts all in pinks and purples, a few blacks for mourning and scattered other colours amongst Carlotta's favourite.

"And hurry up!" Carlotta bellowed and Madame Campan sorted through the assortment of dresses hurriedly, unable to find the navy blue dress Carlotta wished for.

"Are you sure you have a navy blue one?" Madame Campan called out and Carlotta screeched what appeared to be a no in reply.

The physician had proven Carlotta's fears wrong; she was not pregnant. The day after her course had come and the illness that pervaded her was due to some badly prepared food. Relief had washed over Carlotta and the panic worn off she had felt mildly...let down. This possible pregnancy, though having the potential for a scandal, would be something to love, a remnant of Ubaldo, a piece of something she could not keep.

"Madame? What is keeping you?" she called out more calmly as Madame Campan emerged from the wardrobe holding a navy blue afternoon dress.

"Is this it?" she asked, flustered and frustrated as Carlotta eyed the dress carefully, noticing the different hemline and neckline.

"No"

* * *

_Wednesday 1__st__ March 1871_

_The Giry's reasonably sized apartment, _

_Rue du Rivoli, Opposite the Tuileries, Paris_

"Where is that Comte?! I shall make him wish he was never born..." Erik began to roar as he stood, but felt the dizziness take hold and clutched his head, moaning as he dropped to the floor.

"Erik you will do no such thing while you are...indisposed" Madame Giry said sharply and Erik looked up at her spinning image, his concussion warping his sight and perception.

"Get a doctor..." he groaned and Madame Giry raised one eyebrow.

"What? So he can fix you and then have you arrested? I've already been questioned and called witness to so many court hearings and processions over my connections with you. I've had to lie my way out of every situation; you really don't think do you? Ubaldo Piangi? The Comte Philippe dead? What came over you?" she scolded him as Meg came in with a bowl of chicken soup.

"Oh...is he awake? I hadn't noticed; he must've been talking awfully quietly, to make sure the neighbours don't hear a man raging about tearing the Comte De Chagny apart" Meg said icily, eyeing Erik with contempt "This was for you maman" she said, handing the bowl to Madame Giry who nodded.

"Did anyone hear?" she questioned her daughter, the both of them ignoring Erik attempting to heave himself to stand, every time he gained his balance the world spinning about him and collapsing upon the floor.

"No, I sung loudly out of tune most of the time, assuming Erik might make a fuss when he recovered...I think it may have masked it" she said, tossing her long golden hair over her shoulder.

"Oof!" grunted Erik as he tumbled off the bed and onto the hard floor once again, muttering curses to the wooden floorboards.

"Erik! You're not going to be able to stand for a day at the least! So stop being a stubborn fool!" rebuked Madame Giry, lifting Erik from the floor and into his bed.

"Wench..." muttered Erik unhappily and Madame Giry flared up.

"Erik, I nearly lost my job because of you. I could have gladly left you to wake up in your home with a concussion and stumble about until you fell in the lake and drowned. Truly I wouldn't have cared. But I didn't leave you because what example would I be setting for my daughter? How would I feel sinking to your level? I would be grateful if I was you" Madame Giry yelled and Erik blinked up at the woman's swirling images.

"Annie..." he reasoned and she shook her head.

"Erik, my friends call me Annie. After all you've done I would not consider you a friend. Once you are better then you are to leave" she said coldly and left the room before he could say another thing.

* * *

_Wednesday 1__st__ March 1871_

_Carlotta Giudicelli's rather large Townhouse, _

_Rue du Faubourg St.-Honoré, Paris_

Carlotta sat at her pianoforte, the score for Gounod's _Faust_ in front of her. Sliding her fingers across the smooth ivory keys she began to play the opening of the famous aria; the Jewel song.

"_Ah! je ris de me voir _

_si belle en ce miroir, _

_Ah! je ris de me voir _

_si belle en ce miroir, _

_Est-ce toi, Marguerite, _

_est-ce toi?"_

She stopped and looked at the words flowing across the page "Est-ce toi Marguerite? Est-ce toi?". Is it you Marguerite? Is it you? The words echoed beautifully through her head as tears dipped down her lovely face.

"Is that you Carlotta? Is that you?" she whispered, turning to face the grand mirror hanging on the wall behind her. Her reflection stared back at her; a pale faced woman, done up with dark eyes and bright lips, curled ruby red ringlets trailing down her back, leading to a tightly corseted waist in a deep pink dress. She frowned, her high cheek bones and rosy cheeks grimacing as she saw herself for the first time; a redhead wearing pink.

"_Réponds-moi, réponds-moi, _

_Réponds, réponds, réponds vite! _

_Non! Non! ce n'est plus toi! _

_Non...non, _

_ce n'est plus ton visage!"_

Carlotta exclaimed, losing half of her usual wobbly vibrato, the shrill tones of her voice dying away as she realised what had happened over the years at the Opera Garnier. Her passion for the music, her love for singing, her persistence in her technique, all vanquished for society and fame, succumbing to the Prima Donna egocentricity, the Prima Donna stereotype of the shrill soprano who cared more about her popularity and her fame than her performance.

_Carlotta must be taught to act_

_Not her normal trick of strutting about the stage..._

Those slippery playful words of the Red Death that stalked her at the Masquerade, the repeat of those words in later notes as she was cast for a small role. She once knew how to act...didn't she?

Unable to fathom the accuracy of the Phantom's words, Carlotta turned back to the music, her hands gliding across the keys of the piano as she continued her practice, moving away from the Jewel Song and onto a simpler aria, the aria of the Queen of the Night _O Zittre Nicht_.

* * *

_So you know...reviews...and alot of them please_


	4. Chapter Three: Impertinent Notes

**_Chapter Three_**

_Monday 7__th__ March 1871  
__Managerial office of L'opera Garnier,  
__Paris  
_

"What in the name of hell do you mean?" Carlotta demanded to know, having been called upon for a meeting with the managers of the Opera; Messieurs Richard and Moncharmin, the men who had once fired her, pleaded for her return then cast her in the smallest supporting role she had ever seen.

"Well we were wondering if you would like you rejoin the cast as leading soprano once more

Señorita" Richard pleaded, having known the wrath of the Spanish songstress many times before, careful in not infuriating her, but it was too late.

"You men! You...you...you treat me poorly and leave me as a last resort! On the day you two took over you insulted me! And then did not worry when I left, replacing me with a _chorus girl_...I cannot believe that you two would dare" She shrieked, remembering the embarrassment she had felt when the city laughed behind her back, that she was mutton replaced by lamb, by Christine Daaé.

"Señorita! I am filled with such wretched remorse at the inconveniences that befell you in the past year. We feared for your safety truly, the Opera Ghost was dangerous and would do anything to put his little ingénue upon the stage. Threats were made against you, he disliked you not for you but for the fact that you merely weren't Mademoiselle Daaé." Monsieur Moncharmin implored Carlotta charmingly and she calmed down.

"Now...you and I know I cannot be bought with such packs of lies. You and I know that the Opera Ghost hated me fully." And the managers hope sunk "But! I am willing to make a return to the stage when the stage is finished in its renovations" Carlotta calmly put forward and Moncharmin looked at Richard with such surprise and relief; never had this Prima Donna appeared so calm and selfless to them, so willing to compromise without the promise of jewels and fame.

"We are having a new opera written especially for the reopening of the Opera Garnier. We were having it written with yourself in mind once we find the right composer" Richard said casually and Carlotta nodded approvingly.

"Well, once you have found the composer and the new lead tenor, please have the care to let me know. I would not mind working with them both before official rehearsals begin. I am willing to learn and improve this season" Carlotta said graciously and with a flick of her navy blue dress and matching fan she left the room, leaving the pair astonished.

"Since when did Carlotta gain some humility?" Moncharmin said faintly and Richard shrugged.

"Maybe mourning for Piangi has given her some new depth"

* * *

_Tuesday 8__th__ March 1871  
__The Giry's reasonably sized apartment,  
__Rue du Rivoli, Opposite the Tuileries, Paris  
_

"Anne?" called out Erik, emerging from his bed and Antoinette Giry turned to look him up and down.

"You are better" she said simply and he nodded, walking forward slowly, taking in his surroundings with a new intensity of perception; not so much anger or raging passions, this Erik had become quieter in the week he had to sleep and think in the makeshift bed at the Giry's.

"Yes and I thank you" he said, taking Antoinette's hand and kissing it. She looked at him oddly.

"If you're trying to get on my good side it won't work Erik, your trickery hasn't worked upon me in years" she said coldly, turning back to the baguette she was slicing up.

"Annie..." Erik said despondently, placing his hand upon her shoulder and she turned to look at him.

"Erik" She said simply, her chocolate brown eyes looking at him callously "Remember when I rescued you Erik? You were only a child" she suddenly said and he nodded.

"Yes, I thank you every day for it Annie" he uttered and she nodded.

"Remember, you were such a good boy, all the notes and box five, it was all a game to you, all your trickery was a joke and a sport. We laughed a lot back then" she said sadly and Erik wondered to what she was getting at.

"What are you-" he began but she cut him off.

"But then the laughter stopped; you discovered the pleasure of killing people, of preying upon stagehands and it was you alone who laughed as they quivered in their final moments. You changed from this happy little boy to a sadistic adolescent, bent on punishing the human race for your unfortunate circumstances." Antoinette said forlornly, as if she were a mother who failed her child "And you never grew up after that, you've remained the same sadistic adolescent all these years, unable to leave that world behind. I thought maybe when Christine refused you it might knock some sense into you, but no, you've just grown more selfish and more haughty, refusing to be kind to anyone unless there was something in it for you. You've used mine and Nadir's friendship for your own purposes these past years and we're both sick of it."

"You cannot speak for Nadir! I have not been using either of you! How could you-" he began to protest but Antoinette held up a hand signalling for him to quieten, which he did instantly.

"I think you'll find I can speak for Nadir, seeing as we have spoken of you as of late. You cannot truly think you have been a good friend to us, Erik, stop bullshitting yourself" she said severely and Erik's eyes widened at her words "You have stolen, murdered, blackmailed and bribed for these past years and I'm sick to death of it. Please, when the Erik I knew as a girl has returned tell him I wouldn't mind having a chat with him over a cup of tea. Goodbye" she said firmly and turned back to the sliced baguette, beginning to spread goat's cheese across a few slices.

Erik turned in shock and left, lost for words.

* * *

_Wednesday 9__th__ March 1871  
__Bedchamber of La Comte De Chagny's Townhouse,  
__Paris  
_

"Madame Giry sent me a note" Raoul said sleepily as Christine lay comfortably in his arms, the morning light shimmering through the curtains.

"Oh?" Christine asked, nuzzling her husband drowsily, her arms around him with ease.

"Well...I went down to Erik's home last week" Raoul said and he felt Christine stiffen in his arms, watching the colour drain from her face "I'm sorry I had not told you. I was just so angry about the way he had summoned you. I tried to reason with him but he was beyond compromise, haughty and self-absorbed. He kept provoking me until I hit him...a little too hard I suppose. He was knocked out cold and left a letter for him pinned to his jacket." Raoul said wearily and Christine frowned.

"Is he okay?" she asked curiously and Raoul looked at her in perplexity "You have to admit Raoul that even if I love you and refused him, I still care for him. He scares me but in no way do I want him dead or hurt" she explained and he relaxed.

"He's fine, Madame Giry found him later that day-she's been leaving him food in the past month, apparently he's been absolutely hopeless, forgetting to feed himself. She sent me a note yesterday saying that he awoke with a slight concussion and has rested at her and Meg's flat for the past week. She says she's kicking him out once he's recovered. He was apparently extremely violent and angry when he awoke at first, cursing myself a thousand times" Raoul said and Christine nodded.

"He would wouldn't he?" she said and Raoul gave her an odd look "Well you turn up in his home and leave him unconscious. After of course stealing his one and only away from him. That's his viewpoint of it anyway"

"I'm sorry I went down there without talking to you, I was just so mad" Raoul said, clenching his hand into a fist as he remembered Christine's terror over the demanding message Erik had left her.

"It was from good intentions" Christine reasoned and Raoul nodded "What did the message say?"

* * *

_Wednesday 9__th__ March 1871  
__Five stories beneath the Opera Garnier  
__Paris  
_

Erik unfolded the envelope of the note Raoul had left pinned to his jacket. He glared at the waxy red seal of the Chagny's and looked upon the black scrawl of the note.

_Monsieur O.G  
__You have expressed through advertisements in the 'Epoque' newspaper that you would like to see your 'Angel', by angel meaning Comtess Christine Elisabet Daaé De Chagny naturally. I regret to inform you that I have been forced to deny this request.  
__This is for several reasons:  
1. __In the past year when le Comtess was brought to your presence it often resulted in the physical and emotional damage of the Comtess, such trauma still prevalent in her normally sweet nature. As both I and the Comtess wish for a happy and safe married life such trauma's are not necessary.  
2. __Monsieur O.G has been known to harass, stalk, murder, blackmail, assault, bribe, exploit and extort when angered. To avoid such damages being taken out on le Comtess I and her agree that it is best for herself to be kept away from you.  
3. __Monsieur O.G promised the Comtess that the next she would ever hear from him is his death notice, promising that she may leave and marry Comte Raoul De Chagny in peace. This vow has now been broken and the Comtess has lost all trust she had in Monsieur O.G  
4. __All over Paris it has been announced that Monsieur O.G was killed as a corpse assumed to be his was found in the lake on the night after Don Juan, which was later confirmed as Monsieur O.G by Madame Antoinette Louise Giry. Seeing as Monsieur O.G is officially deceased there would be no one for Le Comtess to visit._

_All my regards,  
__Monsieur Le Comte Raoul De Chagny._

Erik growled in anger and screwed up the note into a ball, throwing it into the lake.

It did not sink.

"Dammit"

* * *

Five reviews svp 


	5. Chapter Four: Notes again

_Some notes: Raoul in this is Patrick Wilsons Raoul, without the ridiculous wig. Christine is Emmy Rossums, not so goldfish starey eyed though. Erik is Gerard Butlers but a **really **worse deformity (gee some nice grammar right there). Carlotta, Minnie Driver minus the italian accent-a slight spanish accent instead. She also isn't voiced by Margeret Preece from the movie but by the OLC Carlotta Rosemary Ashe. _

_Hmmm I had some other notes...will add with next chapter-can't remember atm._

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_Tuesday 4__th__ April 1871  
__Theatre of L'opera Garnier,  
__Paris  
_

"No, no, no...he cannot possibly be the new tenor" Carlotta muttered in disbelief to mezzo-soprano Faustine as they stood side stage, watching Valentin-Jean Fauvet sing his aria from 'The Magic Flute'. His voice was fine but not magnificent, hardly worthy of the leading role, too young and inexperienced.

"The managers must be desperate...or mad" Faustine replied and Carlotta smirked wickedly at her companion.

"They always have been mad, they hired you and fired me" Carlotta said in jest and left the conversation to strut out upon the stage for the Queen of the Night's entrance.

The managers had not yet commissioned a composer to write an opera for the Opera House's re-opening. The decision had been made that at the opening all the greatest pieces from several operas would be performed in a first act, all conducted by the composer of each. The second act would begin with the new opera. The first piece they had decided to rehearse was the Queen of Night's aria.

But as she began to sing there was a rattling coming from the rafters above, Carlotta stopping to glare at the noisy clutter of the sloppy stagehands. But all she saw was a dark figure stalking away into the shadows, the dappled light unable to reveal the face of the cause of the disorder.

But Carlotta didn't need to see his face to know who was there, and as she felt the chill run down her back as if she were doused in icy water, the Spaniard back away uncertainly, the fear evident upon her face.

"What is it Señorita?" asked the conductor Monsieur Reyer, looking at the terrified diva in confusion and frustration.

"Uh..." she said, still staring at the rafters above "It was nothing"

"Good" he said, frowning as he turned the page of his score "Let us continue"

* * *

_Tuesday 4th April 1871_  
_Five stories beneath the Opera Garnier  
__Paris  
_

Erik groaned as he sat at the organ, unable to concentrate all that afternoon, after making that damned trip to the rehearsals, after being seen by that damned woman.

* * *

_Why did you go there? It'll only cause trouble...you're supposed to be dead!_

I was curious...you know I was...

_They think you're dead! You can't go traipsing about the theatre when you're supposed to be dead!_

Watch me

_Erik will you ever listen? That damned woman saw you!_

Yes and what of it? If she dares say anything she will meet the same sticky end as her damned fiancé...

_After you promised yourself no more killing? Is that what a promise from Erik Charles Destler is worth?_

Come on...

_No. Annie's right; you've changed and it isn't for the better._

What!

_Clean up your act Erik_

Erik!

* * *

Irritated, Erik pulled out a new piece of paper and began to write an angered letter to the managers;

_Messieurs Moncharmin et Richard  
__Now, in my absence you have thought yourselves...safe.  
__A marvellously foolish thought I must say, for your opera ghost is more real than ever.  
__What is that I hear you say? 'He cannot still be alive?'...think again messieurs...what is my name?  
__Opera-__Ghost  
__And now I have resumed my place presiding over __my__ theatre, I am astonished that at the slightest sign of my absence you have done exactly the opposite of my wishes. So I have a few requests:_

_1. Carlotta must be sacked. Her time has run out and if she is to sing once again in my theatre I shall wrench her bleeding head from that damned neck. This is no empty threat-my good humour and patience have both finally ended._

_2. By checking the books I have noticed box five has been sold for the first month after the reopening. This will not do. This has always been my private box. It always will be my private box. How many stagehands must I kill before this point gets its way through your incessantly thick skulls? Same goes with my salary, from my calculations you do owe me approximately eight months worth, 160000 francs, if you please._

_3. I am in the middle of writing a new opera. The manuscript will be on your desks in a week and I trust you will consider it, for you have not found a composer yet._

_Should these commands be ignored, a disaster not unlike the last one will occur.  
__I remain you humble and obedient servant,  
__O.G_

"That should do the trick" Erik muttered as he read over the red scrawl and sealed his work of art with the red waxy skull.

* * *

One hour later Erik knew the problem could not merely be solved by one letter, and set about making sure that this time his commands would not be ignored.

_My dear Señorita,  
__I advise you that it would be wise to be ill upon your next performance.  
__On further thought it would be even wiser to become ill for the rest of your career.  
__Madam, I have threatened and persisted, I have made you lose your voice, sent note after note, near thrown a chandelier upon you and killed your fiancé. You would be a fool to continue to sing at my opera house. A foolish woman or a suicidal one.  
__Either way-I will have you out.  
__All my regards,  
__O.G_

_My Dear Vicomte,  
__How pleasing it was to read your letter after recovering from a misadventure, a concussion if you wish to know. I don't doubt you'll wonder it's cause.  
__Now onto such more serious matters such as that note of yours. I believe by your complicated jargon that you do not wish your wife to see me as I'm a psychotic obsessive bastard.  
__This may be true but I insist upon a form of correspondence with her. I would like to speak to her; I need to speak with her.  
__Should these commands be ignored, a disaster not unlike the last may happen to fall right upon your pretty head.  
__Sincerely yours,  
__O.G_

_Comtess Christine Elisabet Daaé De Chagny,  
__I write to you to-  
_

Growling in frustration Erik grabbed this third piece of paper and scrunched it up into a ball, throwing it into the lake, landing next to the Comte's impertinent letter.

_  
Dearest Comtess,  
__After these past months I have thought seriously about my past actions and-_

_Angel,  
__I love you still; this shall be true for the rest of my life-_

_My Christine,  
__Every moment without you is like one thousand years in hell-  
_

Soon these scrunched up balls of paper littered the lake, refusing to sink and Erik sighed, picking up a new sheet of paper for the last time.

_Christine,  
__I have started countless letters to you in the past months but cannot find the right words to describe how I feel, so please put up with my confusion. I know you well; you are reading this in fearful disbelief, you are even shaking, remembering the man you adored and respected as your singing tutor. So please, I mean no harm, read this calmly and without fear._

_I love you. This will be evident throughout the rest of my life, I never expect it to leave me, and I have tried in every possible way to forget this passion for you, these efforts proving useless and a true waste of time._

_But though I cannot move on I wish to speak to you about the possibility of returning to the opera. I know I shall never win your heart, you have proved this to me, and though every day is unbearable, the only joy I gain is that I know you're happy with your husband. I hope you do remain happy with him for the entirety of your lives._

_But I know of your passion for performing, for the opera, for music. You once fainted in ecstasy at my brilliant performance of 'The Resurrection of Lazarus' and the fear that I inspired in you would convert to frenzied ecstasy. If you would return to the Opera I would resume my teachings with you, purely professional._

_There is no venom lurking in these words of reassurance. The heartbreak I am suffering is powerful but I will live, but at the prospect, the thought of never seeing you again, excepting accidental glimpses throughout the years, it is at this thought that my heart stops, I cannot breathe and feels as if my death is near. If I was to be allowed to tutor you, god it would be a beautiful gift. I do not fear death, I fear leaving nothing behind, no great works of genius under my name for myself to be remembered by-only a pathetic ghost of a man remembered for his wicked plots._

_I love you but with that last meeting of ours you set me free and I know I shall never have you; but please allow me to teach you once more._

_All my love,  
__Erik  
_

Satisfied with this letter, Erik set about sealing the envelopes and stalked out of the cave to the harsh glare of daylight.

* * *


	6. Chapter Five: Utterly Terrifying

**Chapter Five**

_Wednesday 12th April 1871  
Theatre of the Opera Garnier  
Paris  
_

"That child? A lead?" Carlotta laughed in conceit, looking upon seventeen year old Louis-Valjean Bourneç, who shook nervously as he warmed his quivering voice with scales. "This will never do" she muttered to Faustine, who shrugged, too focused on the boy's attractive caramel skin and golden hair.

"But he is lovely to look upon if anything" she reasoned and Carlotta looked at her companion in disgust

"Maybe for you with your mere twenty-two years, but imagine me standing next to him! I am twenty-nine; more than ten years older than that baby! In the performance of Carmen it'll be as if Carmen is snatching the cradle!" she fumed and Faustine giggled.

"Would be amusing of course; like a satire" she giggled and Carlotta rolled her eyes.

"Faustine, some maturity please. This is serious; I am off to speak to the managers" she announced and her friend grabbed her by the sleeve of her purple dress.

"And what Carlotta? Get the poor thing placed in chorus like the last one? The auditions will start all over again, the delays getting longer. Face it; if they haven't found a suitable replacement by now I doubt they will this season" she reasoned seriously and Carlotta bit her lip, forced to face logic instead of her own conscious.

"Alright, let's see how he sings" she said decisively and Monsieur Reyer tapped the stand with his baton, signalling quiet as the company turned to him.

"Now, we shall start with the Queen of the Night's aria" he announced and Carlotta smiled; this was one of her favourite pieces to perform, suiting her high range and full voice.

But as she walked centre stage and began to sing her memory flashed back to one week ago, having found a letter upon her dresser...

_  
"What's this?" she asked curiously as Madame Campan began to brush through her long red hair and she sat down, flipping open the envelope to see the foreboding red skull seal._

_Screaming in horror the Diva dropped the envelope, causing her mistress to drop the brush and fluster in surprise._

"_What is it?" she asked in shock and Carlotta bent forward, picking up the envelope from the ground, shaking as she broke the horrible seal, reading the childish red scrawl as quickly as she possibly could._

"_Señorita? What is it?" asked Madame Campan worriedly, trying to glance over her shoulder at the letter; alas it was written in Carlotta's native Spanish._

_Finally Carlotta looked up, after reading it somewhat five times, her eyes filled with fear, cheeks flushed red._

"_He's back" she said simply._

_-_

_Instantly Carlotta had run to the manager's office, attempting to resign as quickly as she could, but they were adamant that her contract was signed and inflexible. Screaming in frustration she showed them the threatening letter, forced to read it for them as they did not understand the Spanish. The threats of her death if she dared sing reminded them of the letter they had just received, demanding they fire her or she would be killed. _

"_I apologise deeply Señorita" Monsieur Moncharmin began but she shrieked, uncontrollable in this hysterical mood._

"_Your apologies won't stop him from dropping a backdrop on me or leaving poison in my drinks. Messieurs, you clearly have been tricked badly if you believe he is a real ghost. He has faked his death and remained in control of this theatre, taking advantage of your foolish superstitious natures! I shall leave this damned city if you do not do something about it" she demanded and the managers paused._

"_Señorita I think I might have a solution" Monsieur Richard said finally and the diva placed her hands upon her hips sceptically._

"_Go on"_

_-_

_They devised a plan of several chorus members carrying weapons they could quickly use against the opera ghost if he so appeared. The stagehands were all put on guard of any suspicious men in the rafters and the entire company was warned against the apparition of the opera ghost. A taster was employed for Carlotta's sake, to taste all her food before hand and she carried a small, but sharp, knife in the bodice of all her dresses._

_This did not stop the fear._

As she finished her aria Carlotta sank into a curtsey graciously but flinched as she heard the sounds of the stagehands above. Unable to ignore it she glanced up to the rafters, and upon seeing the glint of a knife in the sparse light she screamed, running back as a hanging backdrop crashed down to where she had been standing.

Chaos reigned as the managers were alerted of the misfortune, the chorus members panicking over the evident presence of the Opera Ghost. But they all fell silent as the haughty laughter of the ghost consumed the entire theatre.

All staring up, wide eyed at the ceiling as the deep laughter resonated through the seats and boxes and wings. Then it spoke.

"As if I could be caught or held back" it cackled "Fools!"

Then silence.

* * *

_Wednesday 12th April 1871  
Bedchamber of La Comte De Chagny's Townhouse,  
Paris  
_

"Raoul" Christine said quietly and Raoul looked up from his newspaper, sitting in the armchair next to the sunny window. Christine was sitting upon the bed, reading a romance novel over a cup of tea. But now she turned to her bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out an envelope, a strangely familiar envelope.

"What!" he shrieked at the sight of Erik's menacing envelope and she nodded sadly.

"I got it a week ago, this too" she said, pulling out another one, one addressed to Raoul, whose face sank at the sight of them.

"And I thought..." he said quietly, moving to sit next to her but she shook her head.

"You should know not to assume with him, he always is three steps ahead" she almost laughed at their desperate situation. But Raoul took his envelope, seeing the seal had been broken.

"You opened mine?" he asked sceptically and she shrugged.

"I don't see what the big deal is, it was always going to say something along the lines of sarcastic remarks in regard to you, pleading to see me, threats concerning a large chandelier, something, something O.G" she said, shrugging and Raoul chuckled; he always wondered how she could possibly make something so serious sound funny at the same time.

"But why did you hide them?" he asked and she sighed.

"I thought if I ignored them they would go away. But every time I went to my drawer, went in this room it was as if I had to open them and read them. I only read them this morning, that's when I decided to show them to you" she said, opening her own and reading it out to her husband. "Christine, I have started countless letters to you in the past months but cannot find the right words to describe how I feel, so please put up with my confusion. I know you well; you are reading this in fearful disbelief, you are even shaking, remembering the man you adored and respected as your singing tutor. So please, I mean no harm, read this calmly and without fear.  
I love you. This will be evident throughout the rest of my life, I never expect it to leave me, and I have tried in every possible way to forget this passion for you, these efforts proving useless and a true waste of time.  
But though I cannot move on I wish to speak to you about the possibility of returning to the opera. I know I shall never win your heart, you have proved this to me, and though every day is unbearable, the only joy I gain is that I know you're happy with your husband. I hope you do remain happy with him for the entirety of your lives.  
But I know of your passion for performing, for the opera, for music. You once fainted in ecstasy at my brilliant performance of 'The Resurrection of Lazarus' and the fear that I inspired in you would convert to frenzied delight. If you would return to the Opera I would resume my teachings with you, purely professional.  
There is no venom lurking in these words of reassurance. The heartbreak I am suffering is powerful but I will live, but at the prospect, the thought of never seeing you again, excepting accidental glimpses throughout the years, it is at this thought that my heart stops, I cannot breathe and feels as if my death is near. If I was to be allowed to tutor you, god it would be a beautiful gift. I do not fear death, I fear leaving nothing behind, no great works of genius under my name for myself to be remembered by; only a pathetic ghost of a man remembered for his wicked plots.  
I love you but with that last meeting of ours you set me free and I know I shall never have you; but please allow me to teach you once more.  
All my love, Erik"

Looking up at Raoul, with tears brimming in her eyes she couldn't help but whisper "I need to be taught by him again, Raoul I do"

But he turned away from her, putting his head in his hands as he remembered the spell Erik could put his beautiful wife under with his song. But he knew the right thing to do, the compassionate trusting thing to do.

"I don't know Christine" he said quietly and turned to her, a mockingly sad expression entering his sweet face "I feel pretty left out, after all, my letter was only several lines long; why doesn't he like me" he whined and she knew he was joking, it was his silly way of saying yes. With this her eyes brightened and she jumped on him, hugging him tightly.

"You mean it?" she asked and he nodded.

"I've taken everything from him; this is the only thing he has to cling to. And you always seemed happier when you had music in your life. But please Christine; don't let him hurt you, don't let him manipulate you. You're too compassionate for your own good; you let him affect you and then your guard is down, he can control you through this. Please, be careful" he begged her and she kissed him passionately.

"Nothing could ever turn me from you" she promised.

_Please let that be_, he prayed.

* * *

_Wednesday 12th April 1871  
Señorita Carlotta Giudicelli's dressing room,  
Opera Garnier, Paris  
_

Staring at that large mirror Carlotta summed up all her courage and pushed it open.

Quivering in her deep purple dress she peered down the dark corridor. It was longer than she expected; dripping and the stench of dust, mould and rot entered her nose.

Taking her candle she carefully stepped into the passage, making sure her dagger was still clipped safely into her bodice.

* * *

_Wednesday 12th April 1871  
Five stories beneath the Opera Garnier,  
Paris  
_

Erik sat, quietly playing, waiting in silent hope for any answer to finally come from Christine, beloved Christine, sweet Christine. This is what he had done for the past week now, all the anger gone, the rage and hurt melting into patient love, waiting and whiling away the hours playing at the organ keyboard. Eyes closed his fingers flew across the ivory keys, a sweet concerto for orchestra being composed upon the spot.

But he heard a noise and one eye opened in confusion, looking about the cave for signs that something had fallen and made a sound, any sign that it was just a mere accident, not a person entering his secure home.

"I thought I'd find you here" and Erik fell from the stool at the organ, seeing the reflection of Carlotta Giudicelli in the pipes of the organ. Spluttering as he attempted to remove himself from the tangle of music scores, his cloak and the rug Erik stared at the angry woman towering over him.

Finally standing, gaping in horror at his worst nightmare standing before him, Erik regained his composure as she glared at him.

"If it's not too rude Madam," he began icily "I would like to know what the bloody hell you're doing down here!" Erik roared and she folded her arms, undaunted by his height and anger, unafraid of the infamous opera ghost.

"It you expect me to be scared you are wrong Monsieur" she said bitterly and Erik's jaw dropped at the diva, unperturbed at his threats.

"What should I expect then" he growled, pulling out the Punjab lasso and the diva laughed in contempt.

"That ridiculous thing will never work upon myself; I keep my hand at the level of my eyes as Madame Giry always warned" she laughed, pulling out a dagger and holding it at the level of her eyes as Erik's blood chilled.

"I suggest you leave Señorita, before your head ends up upon a pike" he said stiffly and her face filled with anger.

"Or you could just murder me senselessly like you did to my fiancé!" she screamed, leaping onto him, attempting to stab him and he fought with her, grabbing the dagger from her hands and throwing it over his shoulder, seizing her by the wrists.

But a strange thing happened; she began to cry. The cold callous Prima Donna whom he hated had suddenly collapsed in wrenched sobs, falling to the ground as she couldn't control the unending tears, Erik staring in horror.

Erik hardly knew how to deal with women, only having known three personally in his entire life; Christine was this emotionally detached wilting flower who could not do anything but stare in his presence, his mother Madeline to cruel to cry and Madame Giry too strong to cry in the presence of another. This...this was utterly unheard of, Erik could not deal with a crying woman, he could barely deal with women at all.

"Um" he began but she just cried, glaring up at him.

"I loved him and you murdered him" she sobbed and he bit his lip, unable to strangle a hysterical crying woman, even if she was a pain in the ass.

"Shit" he muttered, looking around for an escape, anything other than the scary situation at hand.

Erik, the Opera Ghost, the Angel of Music, the Red Death, the Devils Child, who wasn't afraid of the dark or death or the wrath of the Persian Shah or even the lions he once fought. This infamous le Fantôm de L'Opera could not help but cringe in fear at the sight of a sobbing woman.

"Shit" he groaned desperately and he picked up Carlotta, doing the only thing he could do; carrying the crying woman who now hit him in the chest repeatedly as her tears dampened his shirt to the bed meant only for Christine. Laying her upon the soft feather mattress she cried quietly into the pillow, the curtains drawn and in mere minutes the crying had stopped; the diva was sound asleep.

Erik looked around in utter desperation; a letter from Christine could arrive at any moment, he was the Opera Ghost and there was a hysterical grieving diva sleeping in the bed meant for the woman he loved. If it hadn't been so utterly frightening Erik might've laughed.

Fixing his cloak and making sure all entrances to the cave were sealed Erik swept away, out of the Opera house, to the only place he may find help.

* * *


	7. Chapter Six: Aid of the Persian

**Chapter Six**  
_Midnight, Wednesday 12th April 1871  
The Persian's elaborately decorated flat  
Rue de Rivoli, Opposite the Tuileries, Paris  
_

"Nadir!" Erik pounded on the door without thought "I don't care if you're asleep! Open up! Darius! Nadir! This is urgent! Urgently terrifying!"

There were the clattering sounds of someone tripping over and the many locks on the door being clicked open. Suddenly the door was open; Darius stood there, tiredly, in his nightshirt, holding a candle and glaring at Erik.

"It's Erik" he said nonchalantly over his shoulder, yawning as Erik bit his lip; he was in for it now.

Led through the foyer, across Persian carpets and hanging sheer drapes Erik met the living room where Nadir, known as 'the Persian' to all at the Opera, sat upon a chez lounge, looking at Erik tiredly.

"What is it Erik?" he asked, folding his arms and Erik pushed past a potted plant and sat on a cushioned chair.

"It's the diva, Carlotta" he said, eyes wide open "She just confronted me in my home, tried to stab me then collapsed in sobs"

Nadir looked at him blankly, sure that it must be another trick of the Opera Ghost, knowing Erik had lied to him countless times, that obviously he wanted something from Nadir and began the request with an unbelievable lie.

"That's ridiculous Erik, why are you here?" he asked, fed up and tired of Erik's jokes and tricks, fed up with Erik's swinging ever changing mood and black humour.

"It's ridiculously true! Nadir I'm shaking from fear! This is as real as the nose on my face!" he protested, his hand flying to his face, remembering his nose was only half there, the right side a pure crumbled mess and Nadir chuckled.

"If you are telling me the truth you shall show me; a few minutes for me to dress, then we shall head to this so called hysterical diva" he said contemptuously and swept from the room.

Erik started to bite at his nails, nervous at what awaited him.

* * *

_Early Morning, Thursday 13th April 1871  
Five stories beneath the Opera Garnier,  
Paris  
_

"Well...I'm" Nadir was lost for words as they looked upon the sleeping Spaniard and Erik stared at his Persian friend desperately, searching for help.

"Please Daroga, please, I'm begging for your help; what do I do?" he asked and the Daroga looked at him in surprise.

"You want me to help? After these past years of threatening me? Of only inviting me down here for your own selfish reasons? Of killing and threatening? Of getting me banished from my beloved Persia? You must be insane" he said and left, Erik staring after him in confusion.

"What! Nadir get back here-" he began to yell but the Daroga refused to leave, remembering the embarrassment he endured from the judges when trying to explain the mystery of the Opera Ghost, trying to cover up Erik's entangled web of lies. He had had it.

"Nadir" Erik pleaded desperately but the man was gone, astrakhan hat quivering with contempt after such treatment.

"Bugger" Erik muttered, staring at the diva.

* * *

_Breakfast time, Thursday 13th April 1871  
Señorita Carlotta Giudicelli's dressing room,  
Opera Garnier, Paris  
_

Carlotta yawned as she sat up, stretching as she realised she went to sleep with her corset still on. Confused, she looked down at her purple dress, remembering the flash of events that had happened the night beforehand. But checking her bodice for the dagger, it was gone.

Was it only a dream?

Standing she looked in the mirror and saw a bump on her head. She must've fallen in her dressing room and had a strange dream while knocked unconscious, perhaps the result of that busy day, the backdrop nearly having fallen upon her.

Carlotta straightened her red hair and dress, fixing her makeup and picking up her things, leaving for a day of rehearsals.

Odd, there was a note in her bag. She pulled it out, a mere scrap of paper with the childlike writing;

_Don't do it again_

Frowning, Carlotta left, ignoring the note and it's confusing message.

* * *

_Midday, Thursday 13th April 1871  
Living room of Comte De Chagny's Townhouse,  
Paris  
_

"Raoul, I sent the note" Christine said nervously and Raoul looked at her.

"Smile darling, please. I trust him because I know it makes you happy, please, don't worry, I'm here for you" he said reassuringly and Christine nodded, attempting to make the fear leave her.

"I know, I'm just scared" she whispered and Raoul nodded.

"I know"

* * *

_Evening, Thursday 13th April 1871  
Five stories beneath the Opera Garnier,  
Paris  
_

Taking a swig from a bottle of red wine Erik felt increasingly better. The day's rehearsals had gone quite well, Carlotta timidly shocked as she sung. Of course, there was the problem that she was still singing, but at least Erik had scared her. Not to say she didn't scare him out of his wits that night.

But as he turned to his new opera, based on the Ancient Roman legend of Cupid and Psyche, nearly finished, Erik realised there was a sealed envelope sitting on his coffee table.

"What?" he asked himself in confusion, walking to the envelope and opening it quickly, knowing it had to be from Christine.

_Dear Erik,  
I shall resume my lessons with you and appeal for a position in the Opera once more. You may assist me in getting a position, but only in legal ways. If you dare kill another I will never see you again; the despair of his brother's death has hurt Raoul badly, he hides it in order to be strong for me.  
Please, this is the last time I trust you Erik, this is purely professional, friendship perhaps. If you hoodwink or trick me once more I shall lead the police to you.  
All my love  
Christine_

Erik's heart soared at being able to see her once more, to see that beauty open her mouth and sing once more with him, her voice...

Instantly he turned back to the organ and finished his opera through the next day, the masterpiece complete, a copy sitting upon the manager's desk the next morning.

* * *

Monday 17th April 1871  
Theatre of the Opera Garnier  
Paris

"Are you joking?" Carlotta exclaimed "Is this another trick of the Opera Ghost? Shall we endure another chandelier dropped when this little girl doesn't get her way?" and the cast muttered in agreement, Christine biting her lip in nerves, Raoul glaring.

"I'm sure the Opera Ghost is dead and cannot drop anything" he gritted his teeth, knowing such events may take place once more; but if they did, Erik wasn't getting away with them this time.

"Now Señorita, Madame Christine is a lyric soprano, you a coloratura, you are called for different parts" reasoned Monsieur Moncharmin and Carlotta shook with fury.

"And that did not stop you two last time recasting every opera with that petite fleur" she spat in rage and Richard began to panic, remembering her walking out months ago over something smaller.

"Señorita, we feared for your safety, the opera ghost-" he began and she laughed in contempt, eyebrows raised.

"Opera Ghost? Ha! You were happy to be rid of me!" she shrieked and a long silence followed, the Opera Company silenced in embarrassment.

"Señorita" Christine said finally and Carlotta turned to her "I have no intention of taking your place, for many years I was content as a chorus girl, I'll happily join it again. I had your parts thrust upon me, for you left, were ill or it was part of a scheme to catch the opera ghost and not a real performance at all. Please, I am sorry for any distress you may have suffered from me"

The entire room stared at Christine in astonishment, the managers remembering the two women ready to tear each other apart when the scheme for Don Juan was devised. Even Raoul was surprised at Christine's mature approach to such a tender topic; she seemed almost queenly the way she had acted.

"Well" Carlotta said, stupefied "I suppose I have overreacted in the past, I apologise for any stress I have placed upon you from my selfish acts" she said, equally regal and the two acknowledged each other for the first time, the entire opera company dazed at the fact that Carlotta had _apologised_ to Christine of all people.

"Well, uh" Reyer stuttered and the two women turned to him at his conductors podium in the orchestra pit "I guess we should begin rehearsals"

"I'll see you tonight" Raoul kissed Christine's cheek and left as Meg rushed to Christine's side, happy to finally see her friend back at the opera.

The two walked off giggling as Carlotta warmed up her voice, ready to run through her aria for the Magic Flute, then move onto the next piece they had finished working on; _Dido's Lament_ from _Dido and Aeneas_ by Henry Purcell, nearly two hundred years old.

"Meg, why are you still a mere soloist? When shall you get a lead?" Christine asked seriously and Meg shrugged, glaring at Sorelli, the principle ballerina, warming up en pointe, folding her arms.

"As long as Sorelli is here, playing on Monsieur Moncharmin's weakness for women, I'll be a mere soloist." Meg muttered and Christine was taken aback; everyone had known for Sorelli's infatuation and affair with Philippe, Raoul's late older brother. They were all sure that it was serious and had it not been for Philippe's sense of duty (and wife) he would've married the beautiful dancer. Now she was flirting with Moncharmin, not even caring for Philippe's shocking death?

"But what about Philippe?" Christine hissed in surprise and Meg shrugged.

"I guess he mustn't have meant much to her except society and jewels, seeing as she's practically Moncharmin's mistress these days" she sighed, and at that moment the girls watched as Moncharmin came backstage. He walked to Sorelli and tapped her upon the shoulder, the both of them leaving for the dressing rooms.

"That's disgusting, how old is he?" Christine wrinkled her nose in disgust and Meg shrugged nonchalantly.

"Forty I think, she's in her early thirties so it's not as bad as it looks" she said and Christine gasped.

"Early thirties? She looked younger than that; her career must be ending" Christine exclaimed and Meg shrugged.

"Maman thinks so and talked to the managers but Moncharmin won't have a word against her these days" she said despondently "So I'm stuck"

"Ridiculous" Christine exclaimed, sad for her friend's position; Meg Giry was the best dancer Christine had seen in all the years they had spent at the Opera Garnier, she deserved to have her chance.

* * *

That afternoon, after rehearsals for the opera company had finished and the ballet rehearsals began, Christine walked hesitantly down the corridors to her old dressing room. Knocking on the door she knew it was now Carlotta's; she had the new renovated room that had been touched by the fire and was decorated for her.

"What is it?" Carlotta snapped, then realising they had a truce she changed "How can I help you?"

"Well, I was wondering, I have the newly refurbished dressing room and I was wondering if you'd like to swap, I liked this one and thought you'd enjoy the new one" Christine said kindly and Carlotta smiled.

"Thank you for the offer but I'm perfectly happy in this room, I've had it for years now and I'm perfectly happy in here, you can have the new one" Carlotta said sweetly and closed the door.

Christine fumed; she needed to get into that mirror, she was going to be late.

* * *


	8. Chapter Seven: Corset Restrictions

**Chapter Seven**  
_Monday 17th April 1871  
Five stories beneath the Opera Garnier,  
Paris_

Erik paced angrily; she was late already. Was it some joke? Had she led him on to believe she was coming as some cruel trick? How could she?

As he began to curse her Christine rushed in, flustered and worried, hair out of place, candle in hand near melted. His anger melted away at the sight of this angel in utter disarray, instantly apologising like a saint.

"Oh god Erik, I'm so sorry I'm late, it's just I couldn't-" she began to splutter as she removed her red cloak, slinging it onto a cloak hook and smoothing down her simple blue afternoon dress. Erik held up a hand to silence her.

"It is forgotten; why were you late?" he asked calmly, trying to swallow down his previous rage and the girl took a breath.

"I was running completely on time but I don't have my old dressing room so I couldn't get into the mirror as Carlotta has that dressing room-" she began to splutter and Erik's eyes shot open; why was Carlotta getting into everything.

"What! Well, I'll write a note to the managers...how did you get down here?" he asked in confusion and she smiled.

"Well...you kidnapping me at Don Juan finally proved useful. I found my way into the compartment underneath the stage which leads here" she said, smiling whimsically and Erik's heart soared.

"Clever girl" he muttered, smiling as he turned to the copy of his score of "Cupid et Psyche", finding the lead soprano's part and handing it to Christine, whose eyes widened at the heavy wad of paper.

"What's this" she exclaimed and he chuckled.

"Our new project; first we learn this then we convince Messieurs Moncharmin et Richard to put it on" he smirked and Christine was taken aback.

"We?" and he nodded.

"We"

* * *

"Concentrate on your breathing" Erik whispered, his hands firm about Christine's small waist and she inhaled deeply, eyes closed "fill up your entire body, further than the fullest capacity of your lungs" and Christine tensed, attempting this and Erik sighed in frustration.

"I can't do it!" she moaned and he eyed her corset evilly.

"Only because that thing is restricting you, tell me; how can you ever become a singer if you have that thing cutting off half your breathing?" ranted Erik, pulling out a knife, grabbing Christine by the waist.

"Oh god!" she screamed, confused at this sudden change in mood, the glinting knife reflecting in the candlelight threateningly. Erik laughed.

"Oh dear! You think...no, no my dear. Go behind the wash screen and loosen your corset before I put a knife through the stays" he chuckled and Christine relaxed.

"But I cannot undo my corset myself" she said and he shrugged, moving away from her, flicking the knife away.

"Then we are finished for today; tomorrow come without a corset, not just loosened the stays, I wish to never see the bloody thing again" he said casually and Christine looked at him blankly.

"That's it?" she asked.

"That's it"

* * *

_Thursday 20th April 1871  
Stage of the Opera Garnier,  
Paris  
_

"Señorita, please try to put more power into those lower notes" Reyer said as he stopped the orchestra and Carlotta placed her hands upon her lips, this having been the sixth time they had tried to run through _'Dido's Lament'_ but yet she could not get it right.

"What is it now?" she gasped in frustration, walking side stage to grab a glass of water, watching Reyer as he explained what she needed to do, not listening, feeling so out of breath, all words were lost on her.

Faustine screamed as Carlotta collapsed, the glass smashing, water splashing down the side of the stage as Reyer leapt upon stage, the cast crowding about her, trying to see if she was all right.

As she came to, her eyelids fluttering as the diva sat up, staring around in confusion, chorus members carefully picking up the pieces of shattered glass.

"What happened Señorita?" Reyer gasped as Christine entered with Meg, shocked to see Carlotta gasping for breath upon the floor, the cast grouped around them.

"I...I could not breathe" Carlotta wheezed, getting to her feet with the help of Faustine and the new tenor Matthieu De Torqué, leaning heavily upon them.

"Why? You were barely able to get enough breath behind your notes, what was stopping you?" asked Reyer carefully and her hands fell about her stomach.

"I think it's my corset; it's been laced too tightly" she complained and Reyer shook his head, a despot for decency and decorum.

"No, that cannot be it, you've sung in them for years, it must be something else-" Reyer began to reason and Carlotta eyed him irritably.

"Yes, I've sung in them for years and every note that requires strength takes another year off my life. Tomorrow I will not wear one" she decided and his eyes widened in shock.

"Señorita I think you'll find that that's quite inappropriate, the managers would never agree, I would never agree-" he spat, appalled at such a scandalous suggestion; it was like suggesting she come naked to rehearsals, leaving off part of her underclothes.

"I think I am here to sing, and if part of these ridiculous costumes compromises my voice then it is foolish to continue wearing it. Why must I wear a corset anyway?" she asked, suddenly frowning, realising the ridiculous nature of it "my waist is naturally slim, why should I compromise my voice to look so absurdly thin, I am not a little girl anymore, I am nearly thirty and a thirty year old does not have a fifteen inch waist" she exclaimed, the entire cast now quiet as they stared at her.

"Señorita..." came Madame Campan and Carlotta turned to her, perplexed.

"Madame Campan, you shall now accompany me to my dressing room where we will be rid of this bizarre whalebone thing" she announced, seizing her lady by the hand and marching offstage with a new energy.

"But Señorita! I do protest-" she shrieked as Carlotta walked quickly down the corridors, dragging her behind herself.

"Yes, but I am your mistress, hence you do as I instruct" Carlotta muttered, pulling out her key to the dressing room, wrenching open the door to see a cloaked masked man climbing through the mirror.

"Oh shit" he muttered, dropping a pile of sealed envelopes as Carlotta stared at him in confusion. Without another word he darted back through the mirror, locking it behind him as he ran in blind fear from the scene he wished to avoid.

But Carlotta and Madame Campan merely stood, staring at the mirror.

"What" Madame Campan began "the hell was that?" she asked, walking forward to the mirror, placing her hands on the cool glass.

"The Opera Ghost, he's always come through there, that's how he kidnapped Christine after the performance of Hannibal last year" Carlotta said faintly and leaning forward she sat upon the soft pink carpet, picking up the envelopes, one addressing to the Comtess de Chagny, one each for the managers, one for herself, one to the new tenor Matthieu, one for the Comte de Chagny, even one to Madame Giry.

"Señorita?" Madame Campan said carefully after several minutes and she waved her hand nonchalantly.

"You are dismissed" she said, not looking up as she begun opening her own note and Madame Campan stared.

"We're expected back at rehearsals in several minutes" she protested but Carlotta laughed.

"I am ill, tell them to rehearse Christine's aria from Aida, she needs some rehearsal time herself," she laughed and Madame Campan left the room, perplexed at her mistress, sitting on the floor in an expensive green morning dress, reading the notes of the opera ghost, skipping rehearsal.

Stranger things were yet to happen.

* * *

_Thursday 20th April 1871  
Five stories beneath Opera Garnier, Paris  
Currently not panicking...much  
_

Erik shook as he threw off his cloak, unable to rid the image of that fiery angry diva marching through the door and screaming in fright just as he was coming through the mirror. Must his luck be so bad? Must he always be dealt with the bad end of the stick?

Kicking over a half moon table Erik shouted in anger, seizing his stool at the organ, placing it on the ground fervently and flicking the tails of his jacket over it as he launched into his own piece, one that he thought of earlier and had not the opportunity to try. It was an overture, the organ a soloist with a large orchestra, as many players as he could get his hands upon. His hands pressed upon the keys heavily, this angered piece serving perhaps for an opera...but what?

As he played he imagined a battle, a murder, passionate love. Then he found what new opera he could write; one with a strong passionate leading soprano, controlling her husband to the death.

Macbeth.

Christine could be Lady Macbeth; he could train her. He would train her. She could possess that strength.

But as he played Erik knew this to be a challenge.

Christine's light harmonious voice flitting across the passionate words of Shakespeare's most amazing female lead? He could not picture it...

But that Spaniard...

He shook the thought away; as if he could write anything for Carlotta's fiend of a voice, the diva to stubborn to shape it properly.

No, he would write this for Christine, it would be his greatest triumph, an opera that would be his piece de résistance, the premier soprano, a beautiful Comtess, a glorious Lady Macbeth, one to make the angels weep with every fibre of their being. He could do it, he would be remembered for it. It would rival Gluck, Handel, Mozart, Gounod and that fiend Wagner all at once.

It was his challenge.

* * *


	9. Chapter Eight: Looking Back

_

* * *

___

Author's Note:

Gee, you know what I love? When someone's clearly read a significant proportion of what I've written and can only say "There's already an opera of Macbeth". Of course there is. I love Verdi's opera - the music is simply beautiful, awe inspiring. I adore opera and would definetely know a masterpiece like that.  
But, it is Shakespeare, and as there are multiple film adaptions of each Shakespeare play, why can't there be multiple operatic adaptions? At least, that's what Erik supposes. Doubt he has the patience to stick with one measly idea forever like he did with Don Juan.  
But please, if you're going to leave a review like that, give me some feedback on the actual writing - I dont care if its criticism or complimentary, I just hate people who only leave spelling/factual corrections. Does it hurt you that much to say "Its good, please write more" or "It's shit, i hate it, burn in hell". Cause I'd appreciate either of those more.  
Enough bitching though...on with my nearly-forgotten phic.  
It's owned by ALW and Leroux owns it in spirit etc etc Minnie Driver/Margeret Preece OWN Carlotta so well.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**  
_Saturday 19th May 1871  
Bedchamber of La Comte De Chagny's Townhouse,  
Paris_

"How was your lesson?" Raoul asked and Christine burst into a fit of giggles.

"Erik nearly fell in the lake the silly bugger" she laughed as she set down her bag and cloak, glancing at her reflection in the mirror.

Laughing, Raoul came to her, arms wrapping about her stomach and Christine smiled.

"He made me promise not to tell you, said you ought not to get a swollen head" she giggled and Raoul grinned.

"How's my head look?" he chuckled and she smiled, kissing him passionately, taking hold of his hands and letting them feel a slight bump upon her stomach.

He pulled away suddenly, staring at her as he felt the bump and she giggled.

"We're going to have a baby Raoul" she grinned and his blue eyes widening, he laughed, pushing her onto the bed and kissing her passionately.

"Really?" he grinned from ear to ear and Christine laughed.

"Yes!" and he kissed her once more.

* * *

_Friday 12th July 1855  
__The House of the Guidicelli's,  
__The Province of Leon, Castile, Spain_

"¡Madre! ¡Madre! Camila says there is a travelling theatre company setting up for a performance in the park tonight! She says they're performing an opera,_ "La Flauta Mágica"_ by Mozart at eight tonight! Oh I've never seen an opera, they're always so expensive...may I go? They're charging so little, oh please let me go" Carlotta gabbled excitedly to her mother who was sowing a new dress for her daughter. She looked up at her and sighed.

"Perhaps next year darling, you are only thirteen, I cannot have you wandering the streets with only Camila late at night" her mother said gently and Carlotta bit her lip, thinking of how she could negate this decision.

"What if I bring Felipe? He'll look after us" she smiled, hoping her mother would be lenient and change her mind. Jessenia Giudicelli looked at her daughter thoughtfully, watching her jump from foot to foot in excitement and she sighed.

"Only if Felipe agrees, I'm sure he has better things to do than take his little sister to operas in the park" Jessenia smiled as Carlotta squealed with excitement and kissed her mother upon the cheek before running off to the yard where her brother Filipe was working.

* * *

"I'm so excited, they say men in operas are very handsome" Camila giggled and Carlotta blushed, knowing that her brother was with them and listening to every single thing they were saying.

Filipe was nineteen, grownup and engaged to Camila's older sister, Gisela. Carlotta was the youngest of five children, her eldest sister, Francisca, twenty one and married to a very handsome Antonio. After that there was of course Filipe, Marisol who was sixteen, Gerardo who was fourteen and a pain in Carlotta's opinion. Then there was Carlotta, the baby of the family, a title which she loathed and revelled.

"Oh! Look, there's Ubaldo Piangi," Camila said offhandedly and Filipe called out to the tall handsome boy, who sprinted over to the group. Ubaldo and Filipe were good friends, both being the same age, though very different, Filipe taking over the family company, while Ubaldo was an aspiring Opera singer.

"Piangi, coming to see the opera in the park tonight?" Filipe asked him and Ubaldo smiled, ruffling his hands through his hair.

"I suppose, nothing else much to do, are you looking after your sister?" he asked, glancing at the pair of girls, Carlotta and Camila.

"Carlotta convinced me somehow, I was going to go to Gisela's for dinner but we decided we'd meet here" Filipe shrugged and Ubaldo grinned.

"One month till the wedding" he chuckled and Filipe glanced at him.

"Hmmm" he muttered, thinking about the prospect. His expression then brightened and turned to Ubaldo "What about you? Any special girl at the moment?"

Ubaldo laughed "Oh they're all special Filipe"

At this Carlotta saw the temporary curtains begin to open and she turned around to the pair of boys "Shh! It's beginning"

* * *

Carlotta was dumbstruck, she stared at the stage as the final act ended and the curtain lowered slowly. The audience erupted in applause, clapping and whistling, some standing up. Carlotta was clapping her hands so much they ached.

"Why are those people standing up?" she shouted to Ubaldo who smiled.

"Standing ovation, means they're really impressed by the performance" he shouted back to the girl, who, now understanding the practice, stood up herself and clapped harder than ever.

The entire opera, the costumes, the sets, the beautiful music, all of it hit Carlotta more than anything ever had in her life. Though she didn't understand the German it was performed in, she understood the story and characters perfectly. And what she loved the most was the character of the Queen of the Night, played by Lenore Nazarré. This part had the most beautiful aria Carlotta had ever heard, though this was her first opera, _"O Zittre Nicht"_ and she still hummed it throughout the curtain call.

As Lenore entered to curtsey, Carlotta clapped, whistled and jumped up and down with such zealous excitement Filipe put his hand on her shoulder and laughed.

The girls prattled elatedly about the opera as they left the park and headed back to the cart they were leaving for home in. Five minutes into the journey and they were sound asleep, Filipe smiling at the girls' young silliness.

* * *

"It was so beautiful Madre, utterly amazing, I want to see another" Carlotta gasped that next morning, the memory of the opera still fresh in her mind and Jessenia smiled at her, shaking her head at her daughter's silliness.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it darling" she kissed her upon the forehead "Now, you have some of your studies to attend to, some arithmetic" she suggested and a cloud entered Carlotta's face, the thought of her studies ruining her happy mood.

"Yes Madre" she muttered, walking off to her room while braiding her long red hair, still humming _O Zittre Nicht_.

* * *

_Nearly one month later..._

"But Madre! Papá! Please! I really want to learn! Please! Por favor!" Carlotta begged but her father shook his head sadly.

"Carla darling, you know most of our money at the moment has been invested in your brother's wedding. Vocal training is expensive, you know that" her father kissed her upon the forehead and Carlotta frowned.

"But papa!" she begged and he shook his head once more.

"That's enough my Carla"

* * *

_Sunday 20th August 1855  
Cathedral of Leon, Castile, Spain  
the Wedding Banquet of Filipe Giudicelli and Gisela Patriani_

Carlotta danced happily with Camila, the two twirling on the spot to the festive music. She glanced at her brother, who was dancing with Gisela, his new wife, the both of them staring into each other's eyes as they swerved across the floor.

Her heart leapt as she saw Ubaldo enter the dance floor, looking for a girl to dance with. Leaving her friend, Carlotta darted through the couples and relatives, appearing right before Ubaldo Piangi.

"Hello" she smiled and he grinned, knowing she was after something.

"Hola Señorita Carlotta" he bowed and she giggled, taking him to the side of the dancing, sitting him at an empty table. "The Señorita does seem rather serious; what is it Carla?"

"You are an opera singer" she said simply and Ubaldo laughed.

"Yes, well an aspiring one at least" he chuckled "what does this have to do with anything?"

"I want you to teach me, train me to sing. My parents won't let me get proper lessons with a proper teacher because of the money. But you can just help me get the basics until I'm old enough to make my own decisions" Carlotta said bluntly and Ubaldo's expression turned to one of surprise.

"I didn't know you wanted to sing" Ubaldo said seriously, leaning towards her and Carlotta shrugged.

"Neither did I until we saw that Opera in the park a month ago, I love it, I really do. I want to be able to sing like that" Carlotta said, biting her lip and Ubaldo smiled.

"I'll teach you, an hour lesson once a week, Saturday morning at my house, don't you be late" he chuckled and Carlotta squealed, hugging him happily.

"Gracias! Gracias!"

* * *

_Sunday 20th May 1871  
__Carlotta Giudicelli's bedroom, Townhouse,  
__Rue du Faubourg St.-Honoré, Paris_

"Mi señor" Carlotta groaned, awaking and the memories hitting her all at once "Ubaldo" she muttered as Madame Campan entered the room and wrenched the curtains open.

"Bonjour Señorita, how do you feel this morning?" Madame Campan said brightly, the sun spilling from the curtains and Carlotta groaned.

"Leave me Madame, I feel ill" Carlotta moaned unhappily and Madame Campan frowned.

"How so? A fever? Head cold?" she asked, placing her hand upon Carlotta's forehead "You're not warm, do you really feel ill? Shall I send a maid to the Opera to let them know? Are you sure you don't feel well-what aches?"

"It's grief, Lisette" Carlotta muttered, looking up at her ladies maid, who was taken aback by her informal use of her first name "That is all that plagues me, leave me be today, I shall be better tomorrow"

"Oui Señorita" Madame Lisette Campan said and she left the room, closing the double doors behind her, leaving Carlotta alone to her thoughts.

* * *

_Sunday 20th May 1871  
__The Kitchen of Carlotta Giudicelli's Townhouse,  
__Rue du Faubourg St.-Honoré, Paris_

"Ill? She's fit as anything, up late last night reading another one of her Spanish novels, she's bunging it on again" whinged Giselle to another maid, Yvette, who giggled, nodding in agreement as Lisette eyed them irritably.

"Shut your mouth Giselle, it is not her health that plagues her but her heartbreak; she is once again overcome with grief for Senhor Piangi," Lisette snapped icily, slapping Giselle across the face, the grisette glaring at her as her face turned red.

"Stupid whore" she muttered, her hand upon her reddened cheek and Lisette turned to the maid once more.

"I wouldn't want to work for a stupid whore, would you?" she asked nastily and Giselle frowned in confusion "Exactly, you don't want to work for or with a stupid whore like myself, so I am letting you go. Go on Giselle, gather your things and leave this house immediately. A maid does not gossip spitefully about her mistress, I will not have it any longer" she said coldly and Giselle stared in shock. She laughed haughtily and turned back to the dishes she was drying.

"You can't dismiss me you lazy slut" she retorted and felt the sting of Amélie's hand colliding with the back of her head. Shaking her head from dizziness, Giselle grabbed hold of the kitchen bench, attempting to regain balance as she closed her eyes. Finally the maid turned around to face the large girl, a kitchen hand, glaring at her nastily.

"She can Giselle" she said coldly "Get out"

And wordlessly, Giselle left the kitchen, gathering her things as she left.

"If she goes I go, I'm not staying here with you bores" Yvette shouted, following Giselle out of the kitchen as Lisette rolled her eyes.

"Good riddance"

* * *

_Sunday 20th May 1871  
__The streets outside Carlotta Giudicelli's Townhouse,  
__Rue du Faubourg St.-Honoré, Paris_

"Giselle! Wait!" shouted Yvette and Giselle turned about. Grinning, Yvette pointed to the open window upon the second floor of the house, the window of Carlotta Giudicelli's large bed chamber. Stifling giggles, Giselle joined Yvette who began to speak in the nasal tones of the upper class Parisian, as opposed to her lower class argot vocabulary.  
"My gosh Roselle, did you see that Spanish diva at the Opera those months ago?" she began in a high nasal voice. Giselle tried her hardest not to giggle as she replied.

"Why no Eulalie! Hasn't the Opera been closed for repair and rehearsals? Pray do tell!" heard voice soared loudly, mockingly.

"Yes, but I do remember a performance just before the Don Juan Triumphant disaster, must have been just before Christmas. They performed a lovely production of _Robert le Diable_, with that Spaniard Piangi as Robert, I so would've liked to have seen Christine Daaé perform" Yvette continued on, knowing that their voices must carry up to the window and into Carlotta's bed chamber.

"Ah yes, Christine Daaé, I did love her as Elissa in Chalumeau's _"Hannibal"_ was a lovely surprise, but please, do go on. What about that Spanish Diva? Carolina? Carmen? Ah yes it was a Carlotta wasn't it?" Giselle added and Yvette laughed haughtily.

"I'd like to tell her to go back to where she came from! A diva past her prime! She made the role of Alice in _Robert le Diable_ sound like a squawking old bird. Such a waste really, Christine Daaé would have been perfect for such a role

The two grisette's laughed as they walked away, leaving Carlotta wasted in bed, tears streaming down her face.

* * *


End file.
